Samiha Tasnim

She was nicknamed The Graveyard. Any secret, any piece of confidential information, personal or otherwise, that went in never, ever came back out. You knew you were safe; you knew you would never be judged or, if you were it would be silently, so you'd never know. She was perfectly named with a birth name that meant consistency and fortitude, and she was appropriately nicknamed; she was solid, permanent and steady, stoic but oddly comforting.


There are more people involved in telling a story than the writer, and you know that.


‘You look far away.'
‘I was thinking.'
‘I shall alert the authorities at once.'”


“...but sometimes when people are involved, business has to stop being business and the human must win.”


But I was never the brave one. Why it should fall upon me to become that now is beyond me.


‘It's very simple. If you were to randomly select one hundred people from a phone directory, you would not only find a story, you would find one hundred stories, because everybody, every single person, has a story to tell. Every single ordinary person has an extraordinary story. We might all think that we are unremarkable, that our lives are boring, just because we aren't doing ground-breaking things or making headlines or winning awards. But the truth is we all do something that is fascinating, that is brave, that is something we should be proud of. Every day people do things that are not celebrated. That is what we should be writing about. The unsung heroes, the people that don't believe they are heroes at all because they are just doing what they believe they have to do in their lives.'


‘Everybody has a story to tell,' she said. ‘That is what links us all...'

This didn't turn out to be as good as I expected it to be. The story had potential, but the characters somehow fell short of the mark.

This book really made me stop and think in a way few of my recent reads have. It was a strong, emotive story that had me in tears by the end.

“I was the one who was fragile, though I didn't know at the time just how easy it would be for me to SHATTER.”
(Chapter:When he saw Brianna)

“But then I remember she's not my friend anymore. So why do I still care?”
(Chapter:Out The Window)

“That's what Ms. Lane, my writing teacher, would say. Spill it out onto the page. Sometimes it's the only way for thoughts heavy as bricks to become feathers and fly away.”
(Chapter:Write It Out)

“I wonder— if I found a mask, put it on, and tied it fast, would I be okay again?”
(Chapter:Elijah Wears Black)

“It seemed to me that only words and rhymes made any sense. Only they were safe. Nouns and verbs constructed in straight lines made the world a saner, safer place.”
(Chapter:The Bell Rings)

“I never really felt alive unless I was up onstage. It's like that old saying, “If a tree falls in the forest, and no one hears it, does it make a sound?” If I'm here but nobody sees me, am I really alive?”
(Chapter:A Christmas Carol)

“THERE'S SOMETHING DARK in the corner of the hallway, but every time I try to look, it disappears. There's something cold in the corner of the hallway, but every time I go to check it out, it moves away. There's something talking to me from the corner of the hallway. I can't see what it is, but I lean in close to listen. I used to hear voices in the halls, whispering things like slut, liar, whore I hear voices on the H Hall, too, even though there's nobody here but me. They're telling me this is the only place where Nobody can touch me. Nobody can hurt me. Nobody can reach me. “You can stay here forever,” they whisper.”
(Chapter:There's Something Dark)

“To be friendless in a crowd is the worst kind of loneliness.”
(Chapter:Third Lunch)

“Looks like I will spend the whole day on the hallway. Watching other kids, wondering if their lives are hopeless and screwed up like mine.”
(Chapter:I'm Definitely)

“But I don't get to write your story. I must leave that up to you. I just hope you understand, it isn't through.”
(Chapter:The Stage)

“THINGS THAT FALL Night falls. Water falls. Snow falls, soft and wet, gathering on tree branches and dirty streets. People fall in love, out of love, to sleep. Sometimes they even fall from rooftops. And sometimes they j u m p”
(Chapter:Things That Fall)

““If you're all suicides, then what's your story?” I ask the Hangman. “You don't seem like the self-destructive type.” “I'm not,” he replies. “I fell. Unfortunately I had a rope around my neck at the time.” “Who put it there?” I ask. “I did. But I didn't want to die. I just wanted to get somebody's attention. You know all about that, don't you, Ally?””
(Chapter:How it Happened)

“I feel my life unraveling like yarn. The strands come loose, and then they fly away. What happens when I reach the end of it? Make a knot and hold on, or let go?”
(Chapter:Dear Frank)

“When you missed that curve, did it cross your mind, that I might be following behind?”
(Chapter:Follow the Leader)

“and I wonder how people have the guts to stay so long on such an angry planet. “
(Chapter:The Residents of ICU)

“We're all a little ruined, I guess”
(Chapter:When We Leave)

“The real job will be finding out who I am inside, because that's all I've got left”
(Chapter:My Body)

Since Maria had decided to die her cat would have to fend for itself.


Enemies of the Party were not merely saboteurs, spies, and wreckers of industry, but doubters of the Party line, doubters of the society which awaited them.


—It's my fault.
—What was your fault?
—My brother's death: I threw a snowball at him. I'd packed it with stones and dirt and grit. Arkady was hurt, it hit him in the head. He ran off. Maybe it made him dizzy, maybe that's why he couldn't see the train. The dirt they found in his mouth: that was my fault. I threw it at him.
—Your brother's death was an accident. There's no reason for you to feel any guilt. But you did well telling me the truth. Now go back to your parents.
—I haven't told them about the snowball with dirt and the mud and the stones.
—Perhaps they don't need to know.
—They'd be so angry. Because that was the last time I ever saw him. Sir, we played nicely most of the time. And we would've played nicely again, we would've made up, we would've been friends again, I'm sure of it. But now I can't make it up to him, I can't ever say sorry.


But having a family had made him fearful. He was able to imagine far worse things than his own death.


...not even those who kept this machinery of fear ticking, could be certain that the system they sustained would not one day swallow them too.


My innocence offends you because you wish me to be guilty. You wish me to be guilty because you've arrested me.


To stand up for someone was to stitch your fate into the lining of theirs.


Leo had the confirmation he was looking for. Major Kuzmin's offer was clear. If he denounced his wife he'd have their continued confidence. What had Vasili said? If you survive this scandal you'll one day berunning the MGB. I'm sure of it. Promotion was a sentence away. The room was silent.
Major Kuzmin leaned forward: —Leo?
Leo stood up, straightened the jacket of his uniform: —My wife is innocent.


They were equals as they had never been equal before. If he wanted to hear about love, the first verse was his to sing.


Did his work have meaning or was it merely a means to survive? There was nothing shameful about trying to survive—it was the occupation of the majority. However, was it enough to live in squalor and not even be rewarded with a sense of pride, not even to be sustained by a sense that what he did served some purpose?


They'd murdered together, deceived together, plotted and planned and lied together. They were criminals, the two of them, them against the world. It was time to consummate this new relationship. If only they could stay here, live here in this exact moment, hidden in the forest, enjoying these feelings forever.


The price of this story was the audience's innocence.


But she refused to accept that she was going to be the one to get them caught just because she wasn't strong enough, refused to accept the idea that they'd fail because she was weak.


Everyone has a reason to live. You were hers. But you were mine too. The only difference between us was that I was sure you were alive.


He'd tried to bury the past. And now his brother had murdered his way back into his life.